Here those gray, piercing eyes went through her, then swiftly
shifted. She was quick to divine from that the inference in his
words--he suspected her of flirting with those ruffians, perhaps to
escape him through them. That had only been his suspicion--
groundless after his swift glance at her. Perhaps unconsciousness of
his meaning, a simulated innocence, and ignorance might serve her
with this strange man. She resolved to try it, to use all her
woman's intuition and wit and cunning. Here was an educated man who
was a criminal--an outcast. Deep within him might be memories of a
different life. They might be stirred. Joan decided in that swift
instant that, if she could understand him, learn his real intentions
toward her, she could cope with him.
"Bill and his pard were thinking too much of--of the ransom I'm
after," went on Kells, with a short laugh. "Come on now. Ride close
to me."
Joan turned into the trail with his laugh ringing in her ears. Did
she only imagine a mockery in it? Was there any reason to believe a
word this man said? She appeared as helpless to see through him as
she was in her predicament.
They had entered a canon, such as was typical of that mountain
range, and the winding trail which ran beneath the yellow walls was
one unused to travel. Joan could not make out any old tracks, except
those of deer and cougar. The crashing of wild animals into the
chaparral, and the scarcely frightened flight of rabbits and grouse
attested to the wildness of the place. They passed an old tumbledown
log cabin, once used, no doubt, by prospectors and hunters. Here the
trail ended. Yet Kells kept on up the canon. And for all Joan could
tell the walls grew only the higher and the timber heavier and the
space wilder.
At a turn, when the second pack-horse, that appeared unused to his
task, came fully into Joan's sight, she was struck with his
resemblance to some horse with which she was familiar. It was
scarcely an impression which she might have received from seeing
Kells's horse or Bill's or any one's a few times. Therefore she
watched this animal, studying his gait and behavior. It did not take
long for her to discover that he was not a pack-horse. He resented
that burden. He did not know how to swing it. This made her deeply
thoughtful and she watched closer than ever. All at once there
dawned on her the fact that the resemblance here was to Roberts's
horse. She caught her breath and felt again that cold gnawing of
fear within her. Then she closed her eyes the better to remember
significant points about Roberts's sorrel--a white left front foot,
an old diamond brand, a ragged forelock, and an unusual marking, a
light bar across his face. When Joan had recalled these, she felt so
certain that she would find them on this pack-horse that she was
afraid to open her eyes. She forced herself to look, and it seemed
that in one glance she saw three of them. Still she clung to hope.
Then the horse, picking his way, partially turning toward her,
disclosed the bar across his face.